Half Life: Call of Duty
by RaiderX
Summary: New Chapter! Mike Anderson was a security guard during the Black Mesa incident. Now he must do his duty: protect his Black Mesa personnel from aliens and humans...and perhaps eachother? PG-13 for now!
1. Halfway Between Heaven and Hell

Current Evaluation  
Subject: Michael Anderson  
Origin: Boston, Massachusetts  
Assignment: Security  
Position: BLUE SHIFT Lambda Sector  
LEVEL THREE DISASTER RESPONDE PRIORITY:  
Alpha: Secure and preserve are  
Beta: Ensure security of staff  
Delta: Personnel Safety  
Current Time: 7:46 AM 5/30/98  
  
"Good morning, and welcome to the Black Mesa Transit System." Those were the first words that Michael Anderson heard every morning. Michael rode with the Black Mesa scientists usually, and they only spoke to security guards when they needed too. Even then, their words were full of contempt. Most of them felt that the money spent on security guards salaries could be better spent funding the various experiments and projects that went on in Black Mesa, and perhaps their own salary. What these critics forgot, was that security guard salaries weren't that high to begin with, and even working in the Blue Shift didn't guarantee a high paycheck at the end of the day. Most of the men who worked as guards only stayed on the job because the Black Mesa administrative office literally paid for their food, drink, and personal dormitory. Though everyone in Black Mesa was prohibited from venturing into the outside world, no one had any real complaints besides the agonizing boredom. Confidentiality was high among Black Mesa, and particularly high among the administrative office. The chances that someone might leak to the general public about the experiments of Black Mesa were too big a risk for the OOA to take. Even though he was practically cut off from the outside, Michael found that socializing with his fellow security guards and comrades was pleasant, to say at the least. The security of Black Mesa were a comfortable bunch, men who had far more intelligence then the scientists of Black Mesa were willing to admit. However, on that particular day, Mike was confined to a tram devoid of human life besides his own. Though strange considering he was early to work in the Blue Shift, Michael knew that the reason he was alone was because the scientists had a huge experiment that they had to perform perfectly, lest they become in danger of losing their jobs and five thousand dollar paychecks. It was highly encouraged among the security to be early to work that day, and even more so for Black Mesas finest. It was no easy task to wake up at five 'o clock that morning, and harder to be expected to be sharp and diligent. The Anomalous Materials lab was the most concentrated point for the Blue Shift. The security center for the Blue Shift was just south of the AM laboratories. Mike was expected to be in his guard duty position at no less then six-thirty, giving him ample time to don his bulletproof vest, 9- millimeter sidearm, and metallic helmet. The ride to the Blue Shift security center would not take long, so Michael made the not-so-difficult choice to listen and admire Gina's voice over the intercom. Though not the most attractive women he'd ever seen, she was certainly a very striking woman, and Michael was very fond of her. She was one of Black Mesas finest, next to Walter Bennett and Gordon Freeman. Michael admired both of these men, for their personalities and generosity. Both men were willing to forgive the security guards lack of education compared to theirs, and converse when addressed. There were others, like Eli Vance, who also showed interest both their peers and lesser beings opinions.  
  
The tram came to an abrupt stop, signifying the end of Michaels journey to the security center. Gina's low voice reminded Michael to take his possessions with him, and ended with encouragement: "Have a safe, and productive day," words that rang hollow in Michaels mind. He gracefully exiting the tram, Mike made his way to a metallic blast door. He bent down to activate the neural scan, and waiting impatiently for the door to open. When it did not, panic began to run through Michaels mind. His heart danced vividly inside his chest. After waiting an eternity for the doors to open, Michael kicked the door repeatedly. After maybe the fifth or sixth time, they groaned and started to drift apart. Then he was inside. There was nothing special about the lobby of the Blue Shift security center. It was a bland two-story room with a balcony above Michael's head. To the east was the security locker room, and to the right were the offices of the Anomalous Materials. Several familiar faces greeted Michael: Duran Monroe was monitoring the lobby desk; James Wallace was stationed behind the complaints desk; Katherine Crocker was whining at him, and Ron O'Neil was exiting the locker room to stand beside Duran. Mike nodded his greetings to all three of his comrades, exchanged an exasperated look with James as he listened to Crocker's threats of unemployment, and strolled inside to the locker room. After retrieving his sidearm, vest, and helmet, Michael paused at a mirror to see himself. Michael had black hair, blue eyes, an athletic body, and a noticeable scar on his short neck. He'd received that prize after his triumph over a pyromaniac who'd allegedly set fire to an entire forest in California in the summer of '97. The pyromaniac was armed with a knife, and had pulled it out at the last second and tried to stab Michael with it. He'd narrowly avoided the blade, and managed to shoot the desperate man twice in the knee to subdue him before he made one last thrust. Michael banished the memory. His victory had brought him to the attention of the Black Mesa administrator, who'd offered him a job just before Christmas. It paid twice as much as his police job, and covered him completely on all his healthcare and financial needs. It wasn't a glamorous job, but Michael could ask for no better. Michael knew he had to go to the armory to get ammunition for his 9mm. He washed his hands, tied his shoes, and set out to protect the world, one scientist at a time.  
  
"Hey, Anderson! Need ammo?" Mike briefly glanced at the Playboy magazine that Roger Welshmen had been engrossed in, and then responded, "Yeah, nine millimeter." "If you want, you can get some target practice. Only person in there is Otis Langley." "No man, I got to be at the Anomalous Materials lab ASAP. They have to do some test, and I'll be damned if I get fired for being late." "Alright man. See you." Mike took one last look at the Playboy on the desk, and then walked off. Half an hour later, he stood at his post, still as a guard in front of Buckingham Palace. Michael had always wondered what it would be like to urinate on their foot, testing them for any signs of a reaction. It was an amusing thought, to see the look of revulsion on a man who's face previously could have been etched into stone. Michael allowed two men to enter the briefing chamber before resuming his post. He caught parts of their conversation about Gordon Freeman's absence from the testing lab. Their extreme irritation was self-evident on their faces. Gordon Freeman came down the hall mere minutes after the two men had entered. Looking hassled, he and Michael exchanged greetings. Gordon slipped inside before the door had even finished opening.  
  
Maybe five minutes later, a vibration caused Michael's bones to shudder. The hallway lights dimmed, the klaxon alarms rang throughout the corridor. A scientist armed with a crowbar charged down the hallway and was about to strike the blast door when Mike grabbed him and yelled, "What's going on!"  
The scientist looked like he was going to reply, even opened his mouth. The neural scanner behind Mike was then propelled forward into Michaels back. Though not seriously hurt, Mike was thrown off-balance. He knocked over the scientist, collapsed to the ground, and struck his head against a wall. Michael Anderson's world went black. It would stay black for a very long time.  
  
To my reviewers;  
  
You're-Under-Arrest: I appreciate your support!  
  
Admiral: Hell yes, I would greatly enjoy having you as a proofreader!  
  
Sulk: I VERY MUCH appreciate you clearing that up for me! I knew the Cobra WAS a helicopter but was not certain it was used in BLACK HAWK DOWN. The link you provided does not work, however. No need to apologize for being pedantic; believe it or not, I want to be as realistic with my fan-fiction as possible! 


	2. New Threats

Mike: WHAT! You thought my original tale was silly and uncreative! You shall DIE! Just kidding! Thanks for your review!

Sulk: I just realized that the General at the command base referred to the helicopters in BHD as Little Birds. Silly me!

Your-Under-Arrest: Here's a new chapter!  
  


Authors Note: I've been thinking long and hard about my _Pulp Fiction-_style Call of Duty. And I've come to the conclusion that it just won't work. This story will still focus around Michael Anderson instead of the multiple POV stories I had been thinking of.

Current Evaluation

Subject: Michael Anderson   
Current Time: 8:04 AM 5/30/98

          Michael's eyes slammed open. He blinked once, feeling disoriented and nauseous.

          Walter Bennett stood over him. Without a word, he grabbed his hand and pulled him up. 

          "Thanks." Mike said.

          "Not a problem." Said Walter with a small grin. 

          "What the-" Mike took in the devastation and chaos around him. Walter and him were the only living men in the hallway. Mangled bodies lay sprawled across the floor, spewing blood copiously. Severed limbs, organs, and various mutilated body parts littered the corridor like a junkyard. He almost vomited. His stomach had come further up his chest.

          "Yes, it is what we call a resonance cascade scenario. Please, follow me. We must leave this facility and make our way to the surface. I am sure other survivors of the resonance cascade will be glad to help us."

          "Can't we call the police or something? Don't you have a phone?" said Mike, recovering his stomach. He had to get to his friends and get out of here-

          "All the phone lines are out. We need to signal for help on the surface."

          Mike and Walter strolled down the corridor. Mike noticed that the scientist that had run to him just before the accident was missing. "Hey, did you see anyone go up or down the elevator?" asked Mike.

          "No, not that I know of. Why?"

          "There was a guy running down the hallway earlier. He tried…he tried to say something to me. He isn't here"

          "I don't know then, mister-" Walter peered at Mikes nametag "-Anderson, ah. I was down here when it happened. The elevator is in…decent condition. We should use it to ascend to the second level and proceed on from there."   

          The elevator was in actually very poor condition. It had suffered extreme structural damage. Though mobile, Walter and Mike exchanged nervous glances at each other. Luckily, the ride was a short one.

          As the doors opened, It charged them. It collided with Walter. The monstrosity collapsed and kicked. It let out a horrible screech. Mike grabbed Walter, threw him out of the elevator, and drew his 9-millimeter. He stepped back and fired once into the head of the creature. The bullet entered directly in what should have been the forehead, and exited from the top of the brain. 

          That shot should have been fatal, but It was not about to be stopped so easily. It leaped at Mike and tackled him to the ground. There was a loud _SMACK_ followed by another one. The creature stopped moving. 

          "Eli!" shouted Walter.

          Eli Vance stood with a crowbar over the corpse of the creature. "The-that thing was Doctor Grantham. It-it-it was inside the-the container when the class shattered and the thing just-just _leaped."_

          "What the hell was that?" Mike demanded to know. 

          Walter turned to Michael. "I guess there's no point in not telling you. For the past few months, the Black Mesa Research Facility has been experimenting with teleportation. However, we found that we could not teleport accurately because of a strange border world we nicknamed "Xen". The inhabitants of this new world were very…strange. And hostile."

          "So…so these aliens that you found have come through the border world to Earth." He looked at Eli Vance. "My God, that means that the experiment today…you fella's unleashed an invasion!"

          "We tried to warn them!" Eli Vance snapped. 

          "It makes no sense bickering about it right now." Said Walter Bennett. "We've got to make our way to the surface and call it the armed forces. The military can handle this situation!"

          Eli and Michael agreed. Together the three men set off from the engineering room to escape.

          The administrator watched the cameras silently.

          He had their dossiers in front of him. 

          "Michael Anderson," he read aloud, "born in Natick Massachusetts, by Kristin and Matt Anderson. Dropped out of high school. Moved to California as a police officer. Winded up in San Diego as a patrol. Followed a suspect in a California forest fire that had killed seven people and destroyed nearly two hundred thousand dollars worth of damage. Subdued him suffered two blows to the head and a near-fatal thrust of a pocketknife. Interest…" he trailed off. He had a strange lisp. His face was shrouded in darkness. 

          Captain Garrison stood uneasily as the administrator went through Walter Bennett and Eli Vance's histories. His insertion team consisted of twelve assassins. He had been briefed on the whole situation before hand, knew every nock and cranny of Black Mesa, and had trained for it for six and a half months. 

          "We've determined these three to be possible threats." The administrator went on. "Walter Bennett and Eli Vance are some of Black Mesa's more respectable personnel. This Anderson fellow may also pose a problem. Your first assignment in Black Mesa is to take your team and terminate this threat.

 "The military is thirty minutes out. Needless to say," he went on, the Captain seeing what might have been a grin on his face, "that they are also threats to you and your team. However, in order for this operation to go smoothly and successfully, you are not, under any circumstances, to kill a soldier of the military. Insert your team, hide from the grunts, and find and exterminate these three individuals. Your next mission objections, should you live, will be delivered to you as the situation develops over the communications channel. Dismissed."

          "Sir, yes sir!" The Captain saluted.

          The administrator did not return the salute. "Go, Captain."

          "What the hell is that thing!" shouted Michael. The vaguely crablike creature crawled towards the trio.

          "Shoot it! Shoot it before it jumps!" screamed Walter. 

          Michael already had his 9mm drawn out and ready to fire. He discharged two rounds into the monstrosity before it died.

          "What you've seen is what creatures zombies." Said Eli. "This creature, nicknamed by us eggheads as a headcrabb, latches itself onto a human being and begins to…well take over the body for its needs. It is very destructive and hostile. Anderson, I would suggest you shoot these things _on site._"

          "Don't worry doc," Grinned Michael, "I'll be sure to give the next one I see a nice reception."

          "Let's proceed," said Walter.

          They were in the lobby of the Anomalous Materials lobby now. Walter had suggested that they try to see if the tram system was online and operational. If so, they could simply ride one to the surface. Michael had found an S.P.A.S. 12 from a fallen security guards corpse. However, it was low on ammunition, so Michael had hung it around his arm using the custom strap. 

          "Shit, the door is jammed shut." Observed Michael as he saw the condition the control panel was in. It was twisted and dented, and hanging out of its hole. A few wires were still connected to it.

          "If I remember correctly," said Eli, "these doors open automatically should they suffer any impact. The reason for this is, the klaxons would activate, a security team would assemble, and the doors would open exactly two minutes after the impacts. This was meant often as a simple training exercise to test security reaction at any given time to any threat."

          "The crowbar." Commented Michael.

          "Exactly."

          Eli tossed the crowbar into the blast door. 

          "You coulda just hit it."

          "Yes, well, I wanted to have enough impact to trigger the alarm system.

          Within two minutes, the doors opened. "Easy enough." Said Michael.

          The second blast door was missing its lower end. The trio crawled through.

          "My God, am I glad to see you!"

          A lone scientist was on the end of the tram platform. The walkway was in shambles, ready to fall as soon as extra weight was added. 

          "Damn, we can't access the tram." Cursed Walter.

          But they did not need to wait. A tram came riding through. Its occupants were two security guards. They waved. 

          The men waved back.

          "Jump to them!" shouted Walter.

          It was an easy jump. The tram platform remained connected but unstable. The scientist was hauled over by the guards.

          "Hey how-" started Mike, but he then stopped as he heard a low whine, like the sound of propellers on a helicopter.

          An Apache helicopter came flying through the other end of the tram access. It was a tight ride inside the corridors used for the tram railway. In the wide room of the tram departure, it was no problem maneuvering.

          "We're saved." Breathed Walter, amazed.

          But they were not. Much to everyone's surprise and horror, the Apache launched two salvos of missiles at the tram. Fire enveloped the transport, killing its occupants. The tram collapsed and fell to the floor with a loud _CRACK._

          "Oh my god!" screamed Eli. The scientists quickly leaped back inside and began sprinting down the hallway.

          In utter shock and confusion, Mike stood still, wondering why the Apache, their savior and hero, had just killed two of his fellow comrades and a highly educated and useful scientist. The Apache turned, ready to fire at Mike. He drew his SPAS-12 shotgun, but it was already too late.

          Luck prevailed for Mike. The Apaches end clipped the tram railway, sending it in spirals. Losing its maneuverability, the cockpit of the helicopter flew up. The Apache's pilot tried to pull the ship to the left, but reversed. The propellers slammed against the wall, ripping and tearing itself apart. The helicopter crashed and burst into flames.

          Mike stared at the floor, still in shock at what he had bore witness too. Voices shouted from behind them, calling Michaels name. He shouted acknowledgement to them, and turned away from the chaos.

          "Red Team, move behind the crates! Blue Team, I want you to have a vintage point on the bridge! Green Team, I want you with me having a birds-eye view of this room. Move now people!" barked Captain Garrison.

          The plan was simple. Three teams composed of four of Garrisons squad would be in perfect ambush point. The room that they were in was a large storage room. Intelligence showed the targets approaching from the north, so they would be entering from the truck entrance. The light-post overhead provided minimal cover, but an excellent sniping position. The bridge's entryways had been blasted, so Blue Team would use grapples to transport on and off the walkway. Unfortunately, it also gave little cover, so Garrison was relying on Red Team behind the crates. The crates however, were not that thick and easily penetrated. 

          When the teams were ready, Garrison settled down and relaxed. It would be a few hours until the trio got here. His troops would be uneasy, but that was OK. The light-post was not very sturdy, especially with four bodies on it. It would be bad for shooting. But Garrison was confident in Red Teams abilities.

          Overall, Garrison would have liked a better spot. But planning was not his highpoint. 

          Killing was.


	3. The Defense of Ninja Hill

Subject: Michael Anderson   
Current Time: 8:39 AM 5/30/98

          "Well that was simulating." Commented Walter dryly. 

          "This is rather…disturbing. Our armed forces have turned against us to contain the incident," said Eli, "we have to resort to other means of escape."

          "Well doc, I'm not too keen on dying down here. If it means fighting aliens and humans to survive, then I'm all for it," said Michael.

          "The military most likely is using their status as rescuers among the Black Mesa personnel to their advantage. We should warn our comrades and gather enough manpower to storm the exit. Maybe we could us teleportation to our advantage."

          "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second here Eli. You mean to tell me the same technology that caused this can save us. What are you getting at here?" asked Mike.

          "I'm saying we can use an old laboratory or something to teleport to a remote location on the outskirts of Black Mesa territory. If my memory serves correct, there are several outposts and parking facilities that lie in discreet locations. We can only hope that the military has overlooked them."

          "Eli," Walter interrupted, "that would never work. We would have to teleport to the alternate dimension – Xen – and program the coordinates. We would also need power cells to charge the old devices."

          Eli cursed in frustration. He dropped to the floor and rested his head on his knees. "What are we too do now?"

          The answer was simple and came quickly: Survive. A Marine satchel charge blew open a wall that previously had encased the test chamber observation and recording room. Debris showered Mike, Eli, and Walter. The trio ducked to the ground, praying no large objects would crush them.

          Two Marines with M-16 assault rifles and M203 grenade launchers sprayed the lobby with bullets. The security desk shielded the trio of Black Mesa employees from the enemy fire. 

          "Clear!" reported a Marine.

          The patrol advanced into the room. Mike exploded from his position with the SPAS-12 shotgun. With the double-blast feature, he killed the first two Marines and caught a third one with a poorly aimed shot. The Marine aimed his M203-

          -Eli and Walter leaped from the desk-

          -The grenade exploded from the launcher-

          -Pressure washed over Michael. He flew, end over end, and hit a wall with his back. He dropped, minus the SPAS-12.

          Eli grasped for it. He managed to grab the barrel, bring it up, and remove the Marine with the M203's head. Blood spewed in bursts from the neck.

          The last two Marines retreated.

          Eli laughed in triumph. He handed Mike the SPAS-12.

          "Those Marines will be back with reinforcements," said Walter, "we should get to the locker room, gather up our necessities, and pursue the Marines to wherever they lead us."

          Garrison was looking more and more like a tedious exercise in patience rather then a ruthless mercenary. The administrator had to admit that he had underestimated the determination of the Black Mesa inhabitants. He had mentally profiled some of them in earlier days. The scientists were arrogant and rude; the security was honorable and had a strong sense of duty. 

          As the administrator watched the screens in front of him, he was reminded of a time in his early years where he had witnessed a cat chase a mouse around an attic. The cat had watched its prey with the same intensity the administrator watched the screens - and for intriguingly similar reasons. Black Mesa was the mouse; the cat was the administrator. The administrator was hungry – for power. The cat was hungry for its survival. Yes, they had similarities, but the basic idea was entirely different. The administrator did not need to be reminded of that. 

          The true motive for the administrators' pondering was his self-recrimination. The administrator had all the traits of a sociopath – lack of guilty being the major attribute. But he felt something different. It was a strange feeling, a mix of nausea and vertigo. He had ordered his aid to fetch him some Advil. 

          Michael Anderson and his scientist companions had reached the sewage canal. The feeling passed. This…is the true beginning of their endeavor, he thought. 

          "Jump!" shouted Mike.

          Walter jumped off the pipe and hit the next one, hard. He lay sprawled across the metal, his feet dangling perilously. He began to slide. The toxic waste underneath him seemed to sizzle in anticipation.

          Mike was about to run to his aid, when a large sphere of acid soared in front of his head. The lizard was back again, with friends. "Eli, cover me!" Mike shouted.

          Eli had recovered a Desert Eagle .50AE pistol. The firearm was inappropriate because of its large recoil, but it had the appropriate punch to bring the acid-shooting creatures to their doom. He fired two rounds, both going wide. Another shot hit the monsters rear-end. In what would have been a humorous display in different circumstances, the lizard spun in agony, roaring in pain. 

          Mike reached Walter. He pulled him over. As he did, a zombie began to climb out of the vent in the waste control room. Some it hit the controls, and released some hound dogs that the trio had imprisoned outside the room. The dogs sprinted over the pipes, some losing their balance and falling to their death. They began to charge energy-

          -Mike drew his 9mm-

          -Walter lost his grip-

          -Walter screamed, grasped Mike's foot, and fell. Mike dropped with him, and got a shot off. It hit home, but it was not a fatal shot. The hound jumped back in surprise, knocking the other hound dogs off. Eli, taking his attention off the lizards, ran to Mike's aid. He emptied his clip into the zombie, which subsequently fell into the toxic waste. Walter still had Mike's leg, which had his arm wrapped around the pipe. He pulled them up. With combined fire, the lizards retreated into the sewers.

          "That was close." Said Mike.

          "I concur. Let's leave this godforsaken place." Panted Walter.

          They reached the missile silo an hour later. The silo was one of four, empty because of its remote and strategically unimportant location. It did however have a hatch to the surface. 

          The streets were deserted, and that would have been good had they lead to the outside. But they only connected parts of Black Mesa. 

          Garrison radioed for the eighth time for a recon report about the alien and Marine position. He got no decent response. The G-Man was clearly pissed, but that did not faze Garrison. The El-tee wanted some goddamn info and he did not care if the backstabbing bastard wanted to give him a blowjob or shove a pole up his ass. Garrison was pissed, and the whole squad knew it.

          The AH4 Little Bird could be heard firing its chain guns miles away. The air support was keeping the aliens from storming the warehouse. The AH4 was technically registered as a military copter, but Garrison knew the pilot was on the administrator's payroll. He would keep the Marines out from the front, and let the Black Mesa people in. That was good enough for Garrison to mentally thank the AH4's well being. 

          Even from the streets, Mike recognized the dark shape. The building was from the old Cold War days, a concrete slab with windows that had metal closings. It housed a few guards, which meant it had an armory. The barracks also happened to belong to the Green Shift – the people who patrolled the perimeter of Black Mesa and made sure nothing uninvited got in. That guaranteed a good supply of sniper rifles, heavy weaponry, and perhaps even high-tech weapons like the one Walter was in the process of describing.

          "It's a variation of another high-tech design. While its 'brother' gun is based on lasers, this gun fires plasma –ionized gas."

          "Hold on, if I remember my schooling correct, ion is atoms…without electrons?" Said Mike.

          "Correct. The type of plasma this gunfires is up too a hundred fifty degrees. We wanted it to be able to be steered with magnetic and electric fields, but we have yet to harness that power into our weapon. It drains power quickly, and I doubt the Green Shift has received it. It would be interesting to test out our gun on non-metal targets though…"

          From the window, a security guard waved them to the back. The trio ran to the back of the lone building. "Quick! Get in!" hissed a man from the door. As soon as the men were inside, the man shut the door and entered the locking mechanism code.

          There were fifteen Black Mesa personnel in the building including Mike, Walter, and Eli. Eight of the original eleven had been security guards. Four were scientists. Walter recognized them as Andrew Wadsworth, Alex Schaffer, William Richardson, and Luther Simmons. Mike only recognized Duran Monroe out of the eight guards.

          "We've been holding up here ever since this whole thing began," said Duran, "we've been avoiding the military after seeing them execute a few of our guys out front. We buried the bodies and shut down the place. We're waiting out the catastrophe."

          "What happened in the security center?" Mike asked.

          "It went to hell. The roof caved in and I crawled through the vents to the AM complex and hauled ass from there."

          "We an' these fellas had to fight out. We went through the sewers from the AM labs. Still got my nine millimeter; you got your .357?"

          "Yup, though I'm low on bullets. We call this place Ninja Hill - it's our resistance headquarters."

          "Show me your armory."

          Duran led him downstairs. The armory was a long two-by-twelve room with shelves on each side. Michael saw an AK-47, M4 Carbine, P90 SMG, MP5 navy sub-machine, Desert Eagle .50, Colt .45, Browning 12 gauge, H & K VP70, and a M1 Tactical Shotgun. The SPAS-12 was gone, as well as any ammunition, so Mike abandoned it in favor of the M1. He also pocketed the .50 cal ammunition to give to Eli later. He pulled the MP5 strap over his shoulder and placed some ammo clips in his belt. He took the Colt .45 just as a secondary sidearm. 

          Duran grabbed the M4 Carbine and the Browning. He flipped the bullet chambers of the .357 open and emptied the spent casings. He loaded bullets into the bare chambers and flipped the firing chamber back into the magnum.  

          That was when a fat security guard whom Duran identified as Otis Redding waddled into the room. He was visibly sweating and pale. His sidearm was a chrome Five-Seven, though he used to have a Desert Eagle. "Marines on the horizon! They got Apache support but no ground vehicles." He reported to Mike and Duran.

          "Damn…they might try to blow the place. This time we gotta fight, Mike."

          "I'll stick with you guys. You got any machine guns or RPGs?"

          "We got two old Vietnam M60s and some rounds for our single RPG. This is gonna be tough."

          Mike, Otis, and Duran ran downstairs to discuss a plan of defense against the assailing armed forces.

                                                     *   *   *

          The Marine forces numbered over two hundred in total, and the Apaches numbered roughly six – a makeshift attack squadron that had formed after their original companions bought the farm. When the metal doors opened up, and the RPG round fired, the military attackers were completely stunned. The RPG round clipped the back propeller of one Apache and nailed the other in the cockpit. The M60s opened up on the top, spraying the ground with fire. Black Mesa personnel fired an variety of firearms from the windows – from M16s to Browning 12 Gauge.  The Marines sprayed the building, but they knew they were out of range for explosives such as their mounted M203 grenade launcher, so they had to rely on the Apaches to destroy the building. But the clipped Apache was out of control, and by some luck, managed to crash into another Apache. That put three out of the fight – the rest were moving into position. A sniper round subdued the pilot of one Apache, and while the copilot was busy managing the instruments of the cockpit, another RPG round soared into the sky and hit an Apache nearby. Another sniper bullet took the copilots life and reduced to air squadron to one. The remaining pilot fired his missiles-

          -The missile was off-target because of the pilots panic, but the result was relatively the same. The concrete was blasted back, but there were no casualties for the Black Mesa defenders. M60s from the roof sprayed the ground forces. Mike with his .45 was trying to hit the cockpit of the remaining Apache.

          The Apache moved in for an attack run. Its chin-guns sprayed the roof and killed two guards. The men retreated from the roof.

          On the second floor bullets pinged off the concrete. The Apache was moving in for another run, and the RPG gunner could not see it. A scientist was struck in the chest with an M16 round. He dropped, bleeding profusely. Mike and Luther Simmons rushed to his aid. Walter covered them from the window with an AK-47.

          "He's been hit in the coronary artery. Blood is not getting to his heart. There is a lot of internal bleeding. We need to get him away from here," reported Luther.

          Otis Redding shouted: "We it's not like there's any place safe enough to give the guy surgery. We might have to evac with the Hummers, so do what you can."

          "We have Hummers? Why didn't you say so!" shouted Mike.

          "Hell, we were saving them for an emergency…let's not argue right now!"

          Otis began going downstairs. Mike pursued him. Another guard was bringing up M60 ammunition from the stairs. He was soaked with perspiration. "Otis! We have got to-" was all Mike could get out. The Apache launched from behind. The explosion decapitated the guard on the stairs with the M60 ammo, and knocked Mike and Otis off their feet. Behind them, Duran took a round in his Kevlar.

          Otis cursed and ordered a retreat to the Hummers. Some people where hit on their retreat. Others were clutching various wounds. From the fifteen the Black Mesa personnel had numbered, only nine were alive.

          The men were in the garage to the left of the building (from the Marines point of view). There were two Hummers. Luther, Mike, Eli, Duran, Walter, and Otis got in one. Luther's patient and the others got in another.

          As the door swung shut, Mike caught a glimpse of Marines storming the front door, M16s at the ready. They fired.


	4. CRM114

Subject: CRM-114

Current Time: ERROR

_Yargh! The monster shrieked mentally. The Nihilanth was most displeased, and that feeling was transferred to all creatures under Nihilanth's control. But CRM-114 was special; Nihilanth created it specifically designed to destroy Race-X. Race-X was a diabolical species that assimilated all creatures it deemed worthy of being in The Mother's army. The Mother. Nihilanth despised The Mother. Her every breath was an insult to Nihilanth, for Mother and Nihilanth were archenemies. Nihilanth could imagine her sinister telepathic howl of laughter echoing through the universe. She was laughing at _him_ because he had underestimated THE MAN. THE MAN was another of Nihilanth's enemies, and had been since his birth. He was ignorant of this vendetta, and that filled Nihilanth with even more rage than even Mother._

But that was soon to change. CRM-114 was built with one goal: destroy THE MAN at whatever cost. THE MAN was the single greatest treat to the continuation of Nihilanth's existence.

With a mighty roar, CRM-114 raised its wings and lifted off towards Nihilanth's lair. He would defend Nihilanth no matter the price, because Nihilanth was God and no sane creature ever challenges the words of God.

Bullets pinged off the bulletproof Hummer. The Marines ceased firing when they realized that it would do no good. It was true all over Black Mesa - most non-civilian cars were outfitted with Kevlar.

Everyone in the Hummer under attack breathed a collective sigh of relief. For the moment, they were safe. The two Hummers raced out of the garage like coyotes across the desert. Their pursuers were two Apache helicopters and a dozen US military Hummers with fifty-caliber machine guns on their roofs.

The Apaches circled overhead, firing potshots at the first Hummer. A security guard tried to operate the machine gun on top. His shoulder was skimmed by a shot, and he retreated. Some soldiers in the Hummers pursuing the Black Mesa personnel fired RPG rounds.

Michael stepped up to the gun and tried to take down the lead pursuing Hummer, but it was mostly panic fire that bounced off. He scored a direct him on the tires and watched the Hummer veer into the canyon surrounding the road. It flipped on its side and provided an obstacle for the military chasing. One Hummer tried to plow through the carnage and suffered the consequences; it hit the flipped-over Hummer and set it into the main passenger compartment. The vehicle reemerged from the accident minus the entire top half, and was subsequently rear-ended by another Hummer, which burst into flame.

Halfway through the chase, the first Apache decided to make a gun-run from the front. It soared overhead, turned, and fired two salvos of missiles at the road in front of the first Hummer. The car lifted off the ground and exploded.

Michael's Hummer raced through the flames unscathed. It made a quick turn towards the dam. "The dam?" Michael asked Otis, who was driving.

"Yeah, the other road is blocked. It leads to the Theta sector, which is where they developed high-tech weaponry. We should stop their later, but with, ya know, stealth."

"Sure, but keep your eyes open for any military guys, Otis. I don't trust the dam to be any less dangerous than Theta sector."

"Roger that."

_CRM-114 roared._

_ Nihilanth was angry. A new enemy approached, and it was not Mother. It was another human. It was not THE MAN, but rather a different human, a man in a blue suit. Nihilanth had not foreseen the role that this creature was to play in the coming war, but he did have a name. CALHOUN. CALHOUN was dangerous, his comrades were equally so, and CRM-114 knew now that his goal was changing. Nihilanth wanted CALHOUN and his comrades to be exterminated. THE MAN was bad enough. The other man, whose purpose was unclear to Nihilanth at this point, was even worse. The other man wore a strange outfit, a gray coat, and a white shirt with a tie. CALHOUN was adding to the problem. The other man seemed to be immune to Nihilanth, but CALHOUN did not share that luxury. CRM-114 was now going to kill CALHOUN and his comrades._

_ A portal to THEIR WORLD opened. Green flashes of light lashed out at objects, different than that of electricity, but when harnessed, equally lethal. It was a trademark power of Nihilanth, and one that the humans had stolen._

_ CRM-114 grunted as he saw the location the portal would take him too. Nihilanth sent him an image of an asphalt road, and a human vehicle racing down it. A large contraption was flying overhead, a testament to human innovation. But innovation could not combat God, and the battle of Black Mesa was ample proof of that._

"Uh, Duran," Mike shouted from the rooftop, "what the hell is that!"

Duran was about to look out the front left window when Otis pulled him back and pointed to the horizon. A gigantic ball of green light was floating in the sky, growing in size. Sparks shot off from the center of the ball. Then lightning discharged from it, hitting the Apaches. They exploded into fire, and crashed to the road behind the Black Mesa forces. The leading military Hummer's brakes screeched as their occupants exited the protection of their vehicles for a better view of this phenomenon. A lieutenant, who had been briefed before the mission began, tried to round them up.

That was when the dragon emerged. "Dragon" was the only word to describe the creature. At full length, it was roughly forty feet long. Its spine was lined with sharp spikes. Its mouth was foaming with and acidy substance, like the blood of the alien in Alien.

The ball disappeared as soon as the entire creature was out. It roared and reared back its head-

-Otis hit the acceleration-

-A huge amount of acid flooded from its mouth. It looked like it was vomiting. The acid splashed across the road and hit the soldiers. They screamed in agony as their skin melted. The Hummers were reduced to liquid on the ground as they too were dissolving. A few survivors who had stood on their cars jumped off and ran away. The dragon pursued.

Meanwhile, the Hummer raced onwards. A very bemused Mike asked the question for everyone: "What the fuck was that?"

"Jesus H. Christ, what a magnificent creature." Luther piped up.

The Hummer had run out of gas at the dam. It did not matter, because the secondary door had been wielded shut by the military. Duran, Mike, Otis, Eli, Luther, and Walter had gotten out and decided to rest. They were inside the first door. Walter had used his security clearance to open it and shut it. He locked it.

The Black Mesa people at Ninja Hill had stacked up on food and put it in their Hummers. Now the survivors feasted on candy bars and soda. It was the first thing they had had to eat in a few hours.

"What do we do now?" asked Mike.

"We'll have to break through the door if we want to get to get to the Lambda sector where the resistance is," said Luther.

"Resistance?" inquired Walter.

"Yes, there are Lambda personnel calling on secure radio frequencies. They are asking anyone for help in holding off the facility long enough for Gordon Freeman to teleport to Xen and kill the leader of the aliens, Nihilanth."

"Whoa, the leader? Why should we help them!" asked Mike.

"Because if we don't, Nihilanth will just keep sending more aliens until it controls Earth. We won't have a world anymore."

"He's right, Mike." Duran said. "We gotta do this, or else it won't matter if we escape. We will all be just as dead if the Xenians take over the Earth."

Mike thought about it. It made sense, but was it worth dying for? If you don't do it, your dead anyway you fool! The more he thought about it, the simpler it became. But deciding on your own fate was not as easy as one would think under the circumstances. "Alright, I'll go." Said Mike.

"So will I," said Walter.

"And I will too," said Eli.

"Great!" Otis said. "Now lets get moving."


End file.
